Der Himmel über Berlin

As of 1700 tomorrow:

- no more shouting in my ear
- no more dealing with individuals who have no appreciation of the potential benefits of spending time with me in a classroom
- no more sand in my ears
- no more tiny little safety scissors cramping my hands
- no more betting with my colleagues about how many little people are going to cry today
- no more stodgy kid's food
- no more having to repeat myself
- no more having to repeat myself
- no more having to repeat myself
- no more having to repeat myself
- no more having to repeat myself
- no more sweeping up the incredible amounts of dirt that the little people manage to drag in (although I admit that I really quite enjoy sweeping up)
- no more having to watch my fucking language
- no more having to share a toilet with people who have not yet learned the concepts fundamental to basic personal hygiene
- no more of that odd fusty feet smell that seems to follow little kids around
- no more having to hide the sugar from grasping little fingers at lunchtime in the interests of making the afternoon a little less hyperactive
- no more conflict resolutions
- no more conflict
- no more pretending to big people that their little people are anything other than little angels

Wow, the idea of sitting in an office deleting spam never seemed so attractive.

Morskie Oko

I hope I never have to pronounce that - climbing it was easier

At the top of, er, that mountain I can't pronounce - 2,172m

On the way up Rysy, Poland's highest

Getting steeper

Hurrah! At the top! 2,499m

The view from Slovakia

Scariest ladder ever ever ever

I got hit by a car today. No need to worry, bar a slightly bruised cheek and a scratched elbow, I am perfectly OK. My friend alleges that after a stressful event such as a car accident, the victim feels the need to tell as many people as possible in order to somehow cleanse him/herself of the event. I disagree - I think I am posting here 1). because being hit by a car is pretty exciting and 2). I am kinda tired of telling everyone the story, and since most people I know read my blog, this will save me repeating myself.

So I was crossing the road in front of my house on my way home from the u-bahn. As most of you know, in Germany there are snipers in the buildings around most major intersections, instructed to snipe any pedestrian who attempts to cross the road when the man isn't green. Having lived here for almost four years, German civic obedience is well ingrained into my psyche and the thought of crossing before the green man didn't even enter my head.

It's also important to note that there are often cars coming even when the man is green (cars that are turning on to the street you are crossing, rather than cars that are already on it and driving straight on), but the pedestrian still has the absolute right of way.

So I stepped happily onto the road when the green man appeared, and a car whizzed past me, going far too fast and ignoring my right of way. I irritably pointed to the green man, he held up his hand in apology and slowed down. So out I stepped again, and got hit by the car coming behind him. I've blogged before about how quickly one can think when an accident is taking place, and this time was no different.

I thought about how the driver was clearly looking over to his left and not at me.
I thought about how shit it was that I was going to be hit by a car.
I felt happy that he wasn't going all that fast, and that it probably wouldn't hurt very much.

And then I was getting up off the ground and looking for my glasses, feeling very much like I had escaped lightly and feeling that I should try to look more confused and hurt to make the idiot feel bad. My cheekbone hurt a bit, as did my elbow, and my glasses were a little bent. I don't know whether I hit them off the car or the ground.

There was a crowd of people around me within seconds, one of whom called an ambulance and the police despite my protestations that I really was absolutely OK. I think it must have looked quite spectacular, as one onlooker alleged 'you flew!'

It all became quickly quite embarrassing as we all stood around waiting for the police and ambulance, with the driver standing sheepishly beside me as the onlookers berated him on my behalf. He was, without any doubt, 100% at fault, which he accepted when the police arrived. The ambulance people gave me a quick check-up and the all-clear.

So here I am, alive and well. My housemates and houseguest are supervising me intimately so I am in good hands.

What an exciting day.

It's 0800 on Saturday morning on the top of Zawrat, a peak in the Polish Tatra mountains 2,159m above sea level. It's cold, it's foggy, it's rainy and visibility is little more than nil. I am terribly, terribly hungover and hungry. My mountain climbing buddy has already succumbed to those particular afflictions and gone back to our hut, leaving me with an enthusiastic young Polish guy called Vitek, who is trying his best to convince me to cross ridge that, in normal visibility, would be incredibly petrifying, but at the moment isn't - simply due to the fact that the cloud cover doesn't allow you to see how long it would take you to fall to your death.

I agree to go along, mostly because I didn't want to go the other, less terrifying way on my own. A broad grin cracks across his face as he tells me how happy that makes him - apparently it is 'strongly advised' to not take this route alone, due to the amount of people who fall to their death on it. My loudly-voiced second thoughts fall on deaf ears as Vitek is already bounding happily over the loose rocks, declaring what fun he's having.

He's right though - it is incredibly fun. There are chains embedded into the rock on the particularly difficult parts, and at one point there is a ladder that allows you to descend down a sheer cliff face. Vitek points down into the cloudy gloom and says "down there, you vould be fallink for a long time". We move swiftly on.

Three hours and a couple of heart-in-mouth moments later, we are back in the hut, having crossed over three other peaks; got a tiny bit lost on the way down; nearly caused an avalanche; got terribly drenched, and slipping and falling on my bum, which luckily happened well away from the scary ridge that was just waiting to punish such clumsiness.

It's the perfect end to three wonderful days in the mountains. We had aimed to get three peaks in three days, including Rysy, Poland's highest, but ended up with five. I ate goulash every single day, drank a nice amount of Tyskie, Zywiec and Okocim, and took an insane amount of beautiful photos. True, I did get woken up from my uncomfortable slumber on the train home by the man in front of me - I have never in my life experienced such a rancid body odour, which is saying something, coming from someone who occasionally gets a little whiffy too.

All in all though, a marvellous trip. I love the Tatra mountains.

Tomorrow I am off to climb this mountain:

It's called Rysy and, at 2,501m, is Poland's highest mountain.

I'll be staying on the shores of this little lake:

It's called Morskie Oko and lies at a pleasant 1,395m above sea level.

I also intend to drink quite a lot of this once I have achieved my goal:

It's called Tyskie and it's my current favourite beer.

However, being a firm believer in equalising pleasure and pain, tomorrow morning I will get on a crowded train in Berlin Hauptbahnhof and stay on it for ten cramped hours, before getting on a crowded bus in Krakow and staying on it for two homicidal hours, a process that will be carried out in reverse next Monday.

It'll most definitely be worth it though. Poland's highest will fall to the Irish invaders!

So Ireland has voted overwhelmingly in favour of accepting the Lisbon Treaty, and the whole of Europe has breathed a sigh of relief.

On a personal level, this will mean that I have to spend a lot less time defending the nation of my birth to people who know nothing more about it than it's a wartorn, anti-European but pretty little island on the Western edges of the continent, that also just happens to produce some tasty butter. Yes, Kerrygold and stereotypes based on nationality are available over here too.

As most of you know, I am staunchly pro-Europe, and consider my European identity much more important to me than my Irish one. This is a stance that is generally greeted with a significant amount of distrust whenever I am back on the island, as though my appreciation of the bigger picture is some sort of subversion or rejection of my Irishness.

This is entirely not that case.

Every single person is made up of many, many different identities. We're like onions - peel away one level and there's another one lying just beneath it. It's up to the individual to decide which one is more important.

I, for example, am a European, an Irishman, a Westmeathman, a Mullingarman, a Rathcolmaner and a Glennon. First and foremost, I am my father's son, a Glennon. This is the only aspect of my identity that is completely sacred and will never be compromised.

At the moment, I value my European identity the highest of the others, however this is not to say that this will always be the case. I agree very strongly with the concept that the European Union is based upon - a borderless union of states that agree to help each other out economically, politically, culturally and militarily (if necessary) through international co-operation, shared values and above all, free movement of their citizens. There's no doubt that every member of the EU benefits from this. It's the biggest and most widespread session of backscratching that the world has ever seen, and I am inordinately proud to be taking part.

So, who's itchy?

Ireland affirms its commitment to the European Union within which the member states of that Union work together to promote peace, shared values and the well-being of their peoples.

Or does it?

Tomorrow we'll know.